I KNOW A GREEN CATHEDRAL

I know a green cathedral,
a hallowed forest shrine.

Where trees in love join hands above
to arch your prayer and mine.

Within its cool depths sacred,
the priestly cedar sighs.

And the fir and pine lift arms divine
unto the clear blue skies.

In my dear green cathedral
there is a quiet seat.

And choir loft in branched croft
where songs of birds hymn sweet.

And I like to think at evening
when the stars its arches light.

That my Lord and God treads its hallowed sod
in the cool, calm peace of night.

Next weekend we'll be heading out to Shrinemont for a Getaway Weekend. What a beautiful place it is, and it will be a time for reflection, relaxation and good company with friends!

EASTER IMAGES AND SHAPED NOTE VERSE

THE GARDEN HYMN

The Lord into his garden comes,

The spices yield a rich perfume,

The lilies grow and thrive.

The lilies grow and thrive.

Refreshing show'rs of grace divine

From Jesus flow to ev'ry vine

And make the dead revive.

And make the dead revive.

O that this dry and barren ground

In springs of water may abound,

A fruitful soil become.

A fruitful soil become.

The desert blossoms as the rose,

When Jesus conquers all his foes,

And makes his people one.

And makes his people one.

NOW THE GREEN BLADE RISETH, LOVE IS COME AGAIN

THE CAKES......

Today is a day of

extraordinary celebration. Right in the middle of the Easter weekend. What a day. We wake up to snow. It covers large areas of ground, rooftops, tree limbs, and as it melts, there is a Spring fairyland all around us.

THE TWO PRINCESSES

AT THEIR BIRTHDAY EVENT

Today is our granddaughters' third birthday(s). Our son and his wife hosted a party for family and friends, large and small. We were able to enjoy spending time with old friends and some even came to join us from as far away as Charleston, South Carolina. There was lots of laughter, proud parents and grandparents, uncles, aunts, great aunts and uncles, and most of all, a prized new baby in our daughter-in-law's family.

Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain,

Wheat that in the dark earth many days has lain;

Love lives again, that with the dead has been:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.

In the grave they laid him, love whom men had slain,

Thinking that never he would wake again.

Laid in the earth like grain that sleeps unseen:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green,

Forth he came at Easter, like the risen grain,

He that for three days in the grave had lain.

Quick from the dead my risen Lord is seen:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.

When our hearts are wintry, grieving, or in pain,

Thy touch can call us back to life again;

Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been:

Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.

Good Seed, Good Soil, Abundant Harvest Gwen Meharg

Hallelujah Nuns

Gethsemane and Golgotha...watercolor by Graham Easthope

On that glad night, in secret, for no one saw me, nor did I look at anything, with no other light or guide than the one that burned in my heart. This Night guided me more surely than the light of the noon to where he was awaiting me--him I knew so well--there in a place where no one else appeared.

St. John of the Cross, Dark Night of the Soul

Pictures from Gethsemane, one from the 1930's while the color photo is contemporary and both show the same olive tree.

Come, come whoever you are
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vow
a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.... Rumi

BAPTISM (WATER)

The Light On the Water by Molly Wolf

You pursue light on water, but you don't actually ever catch it; children learn that one very early. But at the shingle beach, the light seemed to stop, and so did I, and looked out at it. The glow of the water against the softness of the sky.

I'd gotten sadly cynical about love of late; I'd seen it bash itself like this water against the rocks, making no apparent difference, retreating in what looked like defeat. I'd seen how spirituality can become a way of evading one's own real issues, how Godwardness can actually be a full-out flight from painful realities. And I'd retreated myself into the silence of...not unbelief or disbelief, but belief suspended in the chaos and pain. I had found myself retreating into a silence devoid of any whisper of God.

Yet here was a light on the water, no longer moving, still not reachable, but there. Just for a moment, I knew that, however little it looked that way to me, I too was standing in the same light. Just for a moment I knew that while I felt like a darkness absorbing the light, to God I was water reflecting in its glory.

The wind died down for a moment, and just for that moment, I felt all the warmth of the April sun. I thought how quiet God's victories might be. Maybe for some, there's the glorious knock-knock-you-off-the-donkey experience, but that's never been my way; always for me, it's not the rainbow but the groundwater quietly seeping up from sources I can't begin to imagine.

I thought of the quiet sense of right that comes in the shrillness of wrong, of the painful, healing silence that enters when the shouting falters, exhausted, of the emptying-out that leaves you not lonely but peaceably alone.

To Review the Book: WHITE CHINA: FINDING THE DIVINE IN THE EVERYDAY

DID THE WOMAN SAY

My song is love unknown,
my Savior's love to me,
love to the loveless shown
that they might lovely be.
O who am I
that for my sake
my Lord should take
frail flesh and die?

He came from his blest throne
salvation to bestow,
but men made strange, and none
the longed-for Christ would know.
But O my friend,
my friend indeed,
who at my need,
his life did spend.

.

.

.

Sometimes they strew his way, and his strong praises sing,

resounding all the day hosannas to their King.

Then "Crucify!"is all their breath,

and for his death they thirst and cry.

Why, what hath my Lord done? What makes this rage and spite?

He made the lame to run, he gave the blind their sight.
Sweet injuries! Yet they at these
themselves displease, and 'gainst him rise.

They rise, and needs will have my dear Lord made away;
a murderer they save, the Prince of Life they slay.
Yet steadfast he to suffering goes,
that he his foes from thence might free.

Here might I stay and sing, no story so divine:
never was love, dear King, never was grief like thine.
This is my friend, in whose sweet praise
I all my days could gladly spend.

DID THE WOMAN SAY

Did the woman say,

When she held him for the first time in the
dark dank of a stable,
After the pain and the bleeding and the crying,
"This is my body, this is my blood?"

Did the woman say,
When she held him for the last time in the
dark rain on a hilltop,
After the pain and the bleeding and the dying,
"This is my body, this is my blood?

Well that she said it to him then,
For dry old men,
Brocaded robes belying barrenness,
Ordain that she not say it for him now.

Frances Croake Frank

The Church Gray Goose Struts Its Stuff

Is this really a crisis?

Which way do I lean?

Let's go in peace to love and serve the Lord!

A Thoughtful Gift

Last weekend we were expecting that it would be our last time this year to spend time with my brother and his wife Nancy. For several weeks Roger had been working on a set of tables and chairs to be used by the granddaughters on their playhouse roof garden.

I would estimate that Roger spent more than 40 hours carefully planning, cutting, constructing and finally painting these intricate chairs, including an adirondack chair he cut out based on one he looked at in our neighborhood, along with a matching picnic table. As you can see here, the table is quite an accomplishment. It was a thoughtful gift, don't you think?

So, the granddaughters and all the family were invited over to see what Roger had done and to enjoy the new playhouse addition. Here are the pictures we took Saturday of Emily in play, along with Annabelle in a game of "I have your nose, I have your ear" with aunt Nancy. Noses and ears were disappearing into the funniest of places, only to be found by Annabelle with great glee. Here Nancy is offering Annabelle back her ear while Uncle Roger and daddy look on.

EL DORADO--EL SALVADOR--OSCAR ROMERO

In the legend of El Dorado the legendary king Zipa used to cover his body in gold and, from his raft, he offered treasures to the Guatavita goddess in the middle of the sacred lake. This old Muisca tradition became the origin of El Dorado legend.

El Dorado is also sometimes used as a metaphor to represent an ultimate prize or Holy Grail that one might spend their life seeking. It could represent true love, heaven, happiness, or success. It is used sometimes as a figure of speech to represent something much sought after that may not even exist, or at least may not ever be found. Wikipedia

We have a new restaurant in our little town, El Dorado. It is run by El Salvadorian immigrants who came to the United States to escape the bitter life in their home country. The waiter spoke softly with me of the memory of the years of war in their country, of brothers, friends and families lost, of a society that was shattered in a long war.

He shared with me the memory passed on to him by his father: of a time when his homeland was sufficient to provide its people a manner of living. He came here when he was a young boy, not speaking our language. Now he speaks it seamlessly.

He tells me he is the owner and created their menu. They make good food. So good that the new restaurant stays full through the lunch and dinner hours.

He is surprised that I know anything about his country, about the war, and what they endured. He tells me he feels for the people of Iraq because he knows how the war affected him and his family.

Yesterday was the birthday of Oscar Romero, martyred bishop of El Salvador, who said: “Let us not tire of preaching love; it is the force that will overcome the world. Let us not tire of preaching love. Though we see that waves of violence succeed in drowning the fire of Christian love, love must win out; it is the only thing that can.”

JESUS GATHERS HIS CHILDREN : REACTIONS FROM AROUND THE COMMUNION

Bishop John Howe of Florida:

I think there has been a better sense of collegiality than we have experienced for a long time.

Susan Russell (Priest):

"This was a huge step that the American church was not willing to go back into the closet about its inclusion of gay and lesbian people in order to capitulate to those who would exclude us...."

Michael Hopkins (Priest): A Day for Humble Thanks: I slept well last night for ther first time in weeks...

Elizabeth Kaeton (Priest): ...a simple, clear, strong statement that this is who we understand ourselves to be as a family of God, and that we are willing to stand by all of the members in our family.

Father Jake Stops the World: Thank God! It is a good day to be an Episcopalian!

Father John (Priest): The bishops show themselves to be a mature, adult, self-differentiated body with the savvy to push back the anxiety thrust upon them by the Primates.

Richard (Caught by the Light) Priest: I am almost speechless....This raises a serious question for many, from the Archbishop of the Church of Nigeria, to the Primate of the Southern Cone, to the Archbishop of Canterbury. . .Do you really want to aid and abet one of the worst aspects of Western culture: the severing of relationship when the going gets tough -- the real threat to our unity in Christ?

Click above title for today's article by New York Times on the Bishop's Meeting.

and mine:

Antiakinolaestablishmentarianism? OR I'M NOT SURE I CAN DO THIS
Goodbye, Anglican Home (a song from the wrong side of the Atlantic)

you were home of Shakespeare and Chaucer

the rubrics I learned but never had to write down

you were the ancient graves near the Thames

the lofty Cathedral where little boys sang

Tallis, Tavener, Durufl, Ives, Purcell

nearby Whitehall, Trafalgar, and Ludgate Hill

messages from the ABC I sometimes read

at nights before I went to bed

the Sunday services, those at Christmas Eve

the processions with princes and Queens in their grief

you were the tiny brass crucifix

and the smell of incense, in thurible mixed

you were the balcony with pipes of all sizes

liturgy spoken in well cadenced phrases

post-wedding pictures, baptismal cries

fragrant altar flowers, and smiling eyes

you were the coffee, the tea, and the cakes

the wooden seats that made young hips ache

an awkward hug at the passing of the peace

the momentary innocence of confessional release

a man for all seasons standing in his time

preparations, a prayer book, both bread and wine

always the questions, rarely demanding an answer

the poetry of psalms, the liturgical dancer

the raising of prayers for those hurt, lost and alone

for a friend in need, or on their way home

the candles extinguished as the service ends

a moment of silent kneeling and matters to mend

my place of second birth, my spiritual door

now you're the dream we lived before